We could be friends
by Valhalla
Summary: "There are sharp edges to her now where there weren't before." Post-S13, April deals with her (love) life. Pure speculation and conjecture and pseudo-wish fulfillment for next season.


A/N: Grey's, of course, doesn't belong to me. Title from the Francis and the Lights song.

I wrote this in a rush and probably should have edited more, and it's been years since I've written these characters, so apologies in advance! I was frustrated but intrigued by the way Shonda left things in the finale, and I'm solidly Team Maggie Deserves Better Than Another Triangle, so this is my attempt to muddle through one way the story could potentially play out and see April work through her side of things.

* * *

There are sharp edges to her now where there weren't before. Cracks and uneven corners and a badly stitched patchwork of hope and hardheadedness and pride barely keeping her together. Her body feels pulled taut most of the time; a live wire buzzing with adrenaline or coffee or the slow-boil simmer of frustration and impatience that lives just under her skin and gets the better of her more often than not these days.

She carries it with her, all of it - the shooting and Samuel and her dead patients and the divorce and Harriet's delivery - and it makes her feel hollowed out, like some of the important stuff got chipped away and she's left with the bare bones of who she used to be. Sure, she has an amazing job, even if the traitor brand still stings a little, and an incredible blessing of a daughter, and friends and great surgeries and opportunities with the Avery Foundation. She even has a co-parenting relationship with her ex-husband that borders on pretty functional most of the time. She's stronger, more resilient than she ever thought possible; she is a damn mountain.

But she's also hard in a way she wasn't, in a way she sees sometimes in Owen's eyes or the set of Meredith's mouth, and she know it's something she might never get back.

* * *

Montana is ... _amazing_.

It's so amazing that in the weeks and months that follow she almost wonders if she dreamt it, the memories turning soft and uncertain in her mind. She'd felt whole in a way she hadn't since Samuel had died, slipping back into Jackson's arms and into his bed, making him strong when he couldn't be for himself. Doing for him what he'd done for her, a million times over. Being what he needed.

That warmth carries her back to Seattle, and as they stand just outside Harriet's nursery and watch her drift off to sleep, her mind is spinning with all the ways to start the conversation she wants to have.

 _Jackson, I never stopped loving you._

 _Jackson, I still want to be with you._

"So Montana," he says, leaning against the doorframe, and her heart leaps. _  
_

_Jackson, I'm so sorry for everything that happened_ -

"It was ..." His voice hedges, and he licks his lips. " ... nice."

 _Oh._

April knows a brushoff when she sees one, Jackson nervously gearing up for the don't-take-this-the-wrong-way-it-didn't-mean-anything confession. Their equilibrium as a family is a delicate balancing act - between Minnick and his mother and trying to date the whole thing has almost toppled over so many times already - and she appreciates, through the pain, that Jackson's trying to keep the peace yet again.

"It, um, it _was_ nice," she agrees, almost tripping over the word. "It was nice ... to take a trip."

They watch Harriet sleep, eyes resolutely off each other. The silence is stretching into uncomfortable when Jackson shuffles in place again and clears his throat.

"Are we okay?"

He's looking at her with guarded hope, with what she knows is a clear plea to keep their existence as co-parents and colleagues and sort-of friends as amiable as possible, and her heart thuds to a crash landing somewhere around her feet. It was stupid, it was _so_ stupid to think that one trip away and a night together would magically heal the wounds between them, or that the sex was more than their usual winning combo of nostalgia and comfort and adrenaline. She still loves him, she knows - it feels like it's carved in her soul, embedded right down to the molecules of who she is - but he doesn't and she'd be stupid to think of Montana as anything more.

"Jackson," April sighs, using every ounce of her strength to give the words warmth, "of course we're okay. Nothing's changed. We're fine. Totally."

He looks at her strangely, probably expecting a fight or at least some passive-aggression, and she swallows the bitter urge to ask if he's disappointed.

"Uh, good." His brow creases. "I'm glad."

The same strangled silence descends between them again and April pushes herself away from the doorway, dizzy with disappointment and heartache and not able to bear another second of standing next to him and knowing that he doesn't want her too.

She turns to him with a bright smile, because if she doesn't everything will crack and fall away.

"Want to do tacos for dinner?"

* * *

"So Jackson and Maggie like each other. Like, _like_ like."

That's the second bottle of wine talking. April can barely make her lips work around the rim of her glass, though the idea of Jackson and Maggie having feelings for each other seems a little more funny with almost a litre of cab sauv in her system.

" _What_?" Arizona looks properly scandalized, or as much as she can with a purple mouth. "Jackson and _Maggie_? Since when?"

"I mean, I don't know but the night of the fire? They were giving each other _looks_."

"They looked at each other? That's how you figured out their torrid love affair? April, come on."

Arizona's drunk enough to be in full-on brutal honesty mode, squinting at her over her own glass. They're in her living room, curled up under blankets after long shifts at the hospital and a rainy Seattle evening, Harriet at home with Jackson for the night.

"I can tell when Jackson's doing that soulful gaze thing." April sloshes her wine glass for emphasis. "I mean, I used to be on the other end of it."

Arizona rolls her eyes at that, groaning out an exasperated laugh as she gets up to rummage around her wine rack for a third bottle.

"April! You need to make up your mind. You love Jackson and then you don't, or maybe you do but _Jesus_ , and then you do but you won't tell him - you need to make a decision!"

"I did make a decision," she counters, wagging a finger in Arizona's direction. "I signed the divorce papers, didn't I? He didn't want to fight for us, and I did, that was that."

" _That was that_?" The bottle in one hand and the corkscrew in the other almost go flying with the force of Arizona's gestures. "It's like if you hired some guys to redo your drywall, because it's all broken and crumbly and rotten, and they just slapped a couple layers of paint over it and called it a day."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"It doesn't seem like you try to fix things, April." Arizona sets the bottle and opener on the coffee table, sitting back on the couch to turn towards her. "You just - plow ahead, and hope that it all works out. I mean, I heard a lot of excuses when you got back from Jordan and when you got divorced, and not a whole lot of apologizing."

That cuts through the wine like a bucket of cold water.

" _Excuses_?!"

Her baby _died;_ how dare Arizona act like she flitted off to the Middle East on some damn summer vacation?

"April." Her friend's expression gentles and she reached out to take her hand, stealing the angry words away. "I'm not saying they weren't good excuses. You went through something _horrifying_ and you did what you needed to do for yourself. But Jackson needed you and you weren't - you weren't here. Were the options really Seattle or Jordan and nothing in between?"

"I wasn't trying to hurt him," she says, the words spinning out of her, fuelled by the wine and her still-receding anger and months of exhausting tension. "It wasn't about him at all -"

"April."

"- I just, I needed to do _something_ and it was the only thing that made me feel halfway normal, and he knew it was only temporary. I wasn't running away from him. I just needed time, to, to heal. To get better."

"April." It's a little firmer. "You just said it. It wasn't about him. You didn't need him. But he needed _you_."

Her eyes are wet all of a sudden; her throat stings.

 _I am a mountain_ , she thinks, but something in her crumbles just the same.

* * *

They look so - _happy_.

That whole new-couple-glow, with the laughing and the goofy smiles and the little touches. Jackson nudges Maggie with his elbow and hands her a napkin, pointing to a spot on her cheek where she'd _adorably_ smeared some spaghetti sauce without noticing and then she's _adorably_ embarrassed while Jackson laughs with her _adorably_.

 _Gross._

April turns back to her lunch, considering the apple left on her tray and wondering how awful and uncharitable her thoughts are making her. Very, probably. Jackson deserves to find happiness, and if that happens to be with Maggie right in front of her in the middle of a painful 18-hour shift? Well, there's not really much she can say about it, and it's not like Maggie's brought it up since that night.

 _Nope, not bitter at all._

"Missed the big show earlier, Kepner."

Riggs drops his tray on the table next to her and swings himself into the seat.

"Oh, I'm getting quite the show, thanks," April sighs, poking at her sad-looking piece of fruit. "Never mind. What are you talking about?"

"That transcatheter aortic valve replacement on the burn victim?" Riggs says, digging into his casserole of the day. "Maggie and Jackson couldn't even get him up to an OR without crashing; they did it in Trauma 1 in less than 20 minutes. Barely even had to say a word to each other. Very impressive, I have to admit."

"Huh," she contributes, finally taking a bite of the apple, hoping the hurt comes across as indifference.

"Nice to see them working so closely, especially after everything with her mom," Riggs continues. "It's good that she's got people to lean on."

April's gaze shifts back to Maggie and Jackson's table.

 _That used to be us. We used to be that happy;_ I _used to be that happy._

"They've really gelled, yeah?" he says in between forkfuls, both of them watching the other table; Jackson smiles, and Maggie laughs again, beaming. "They make a good team."

She just chews on her apple.

The taste is bitter.

* * *

The problem with being a mountain, April thinks, is that you never change. Sure, the weather probably erodes stuff over the years and maybe there's an avalanche or something, but otherwise the whole unmovable thing makes it hard to be anything other than stuck in what you are.

And that's been her, since Samuel's death - refusing to even think about why she'd let her marriage dissolve with an ocean between them, to see Jackson's point of view, to look at her own actions with anything more than the self-righteous justifications she'd given Jackson. She'd doubled-down on the worst parts of herself and refused to try anything else.

And in the end, the price of that gamble had been her marriage.

She goes back to therapy; for real this time, not just paying $200/hour to roll her eyes and run through her litany of excuses. She starts running again. She actually makes time to go out for drinks with Riggs, Arizona, even Meredith and Alex. She deletes Tinder from her phone and downloads a meditation app instead. She starts looking for a new apartment, and keeps her schedule opposite of Jackson's so their only interactions are Harriet exchanges or notes left on the fridge.

It's better for both of them, to take some space. Plus, she can't bear the thought of waking up in the morning to Maggie in their - _his_ kitchen, though he was being respectful about keeping her and Harriet separate from his dating life. She hadn't seen Maggie around their - _ugh_ \- his place at all, actually, and she thanks God for small favours that that particular brand of awkwardness hasn't happened yet. The force of her feelings for Jackson still feel like an avalanche, like it could bury her whole, and she needs that to not happen - she needs them to be okay, even if that's just as friends and co-workers and especially Harriet's parents. They'd had their second, third, fourth, five millionth chance and he'd made his choice to move on, and so she'll take her breathing room and make her changes and pretend she's not in love with him until she isn't.

That's gotta work.

Right?

* * *

"I've got a date!"

Maggie makes the breathless, excited announcement to the whole lounge as she walks in. April's getting ready to leave near the front of the room and gets caught in the crossfire of Maggie's eagerness, trying to wrestle her expression into happiness for her friend while her gut churns with guilt and grief.

"Maggie, that's so great," she says, finishing the last button on her sweater and willing herself to look normal. "I'm so glad you and Jackson are doing well."

"What do you mean _Jackson_?" Maggie's brow creases, and April can practically feel Meredith and Amelia's confused stares turn on her. "I'm going on a date with this super cute guy from my spin class. Jeff. He's a biomedical researcher at the CIDR."

Amelia snorts from the corner. "Since when do you go to _spin_ _class_?"

"Since I decided to take better care of myself," Maggie says while April tries to remember how to close her jaw. "And have some fun and try new things. Like riding a bike that goes nowhere in a room filled with 30 other sweaty people."

Meredith ignores Amelia's eye-rolling in reply and looks between Maggie and April, curiousity piqued.

"Why did you ask Maggie if she was going on a date with Jackson?"

"Uh -" April feels her face flame red, but her spinning thoughts keep her mouth from working. "I, um -"

Maggie, thankfully, steps forward to put her out of her misery, placing a hand on her arm.

"Oh my gosh, is this about what you said the night of the fire?" _Nope, never mind. Just a different kind of misery._ "April, Jackson didn't - _doesn't_ \- have feelings for me. And I didn't say anything when you told me that because I just thought you were being -"

"Crazy?" Meredith supplies, faux-helpful, and Maggie shoots her a look.

"Jealous," she amends, shifting her gaze over to April with something that looks uncomfortably like pity. "Jackson's like a brother to me - well, he's sort of my step-brother so I guess that makes sense - and even if I thought he was cute, and honestly who hasn't noticed those eyes, I'm not interested in being the, uh, third wheel."

Meredith stiffens at that; Maggie shifts in place, awkward for a beat.

"Besides," she continues, perking up again, "I have Cute Spin Class Guy."

"So you and Jackson aren't together?"

That's what April manages to get out, finally, honing in on the one thing that's stuck through all her embarrassment and shock.

"No!" Maggie laughs, then sobers. "April, you didn't think this whole time - it's been over a month. I'm so sorry, I should have talked to you. I just assumed that you realized -"

"Oh my gosh, no, don't apologize," April rushes out, fumbling into her jacket as quickly as she can. "Seriously Maggie, it's totally fine. Jackson and I are not a thing, not going to be a thing, so it doesn't even matter, y'know? If you were dating I'd say congrats but you're not, so congrats on not dating, I guess, and uh, Spin Class Guy. And I'll see all of you tomorrow!"

She bolts, and by the time she hits the parking lot her embarrassment has transformed into elation; it takes another 20 minutes and pulling onto her - Jackson's - street and she just feels weary, again, since what does it change? Fine, work'll be a little more bearable without watching Jackson and Maggie's (imaginary) love story play out in real-time, but otherwise things between them are status quo. She'd just been using the non-thing _thing_ with Maggie as one more excuse for why they couldn't be together - she could tell herself that he chose Maggie, that it was out of her hands, and it was less painful than admitting she hadn't been what Jackson needed.

It was easier than apologizing.

April weeps over her steering wheel for almost an hour and that night, she writes him a letter.

* * *

The weekend before she's supposed to move into her new apartment, she takes a break from packing boxes and leaves the letter on Jackson's desk. He's working doubles until the movers come, and besides, it's not supposed to be some super secret, dramatic gesture. She's not throwing the letter at him and running off into the sunset; she's still going to see him every Sunday to exchange Harriet and they're still going to work together and maybe they'll eventually get back to a place where they can grab wings and beer after a long shift. It's a nice thought, at least.

Harriet's in bed and she's taping up a box of medical textbooks when Jackson knocks gently on her bedroom door and almost gives her a heart attack.

"Jackson!" she near-shrieks, clutching the tape her to chest. "You scared the crap out of me! What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the hospital?"

"Procedure got cancelled, so I just came back to shower and change." He shoves his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. "You got a minute?"

"Um, sure." April drops the tape and kneels back on the bed, nervousness bubbling. "What's up?"

Jackson takes a tentative step into the room.

"Feels like we haven't even been in the same place at the same time in - what, weeks?" he says, watching her with a veiled look. "Almost two months? Crazy how opposite our schedules have been lately."

"Jackson," April sighs, dropping any pretence of dancing around the subject. They've been doing that - talking in circles without really saying what they mean, without listening - for way too long. "I don't want it to be a big thing, okay? I'm trying to give us both space and I've just been realizing some things, and I wrote the letter because I wanted you to know how sorry I am about how things turned out. Not like, sorry-qualified-with-a-million-reasons-why-I-was-right, but just - I'm sorry." She lets out a breath she feels like she's been holding for years. "I should have figured out how to be there for you and how to support you and I shouldn't have thrown what you needed back in your face, and I know I did so many things wrong but - but I never meant to hurt you."

"I'm sorry too." He drops down on the bed beside her; the warmth of him, the nearness is almost too much, even still. "I'm not sure how much that's worth, at this point, but it's true. And thank you. The letter was -"

"Something I should have said a long time ago." April tries a smile, tentative, though it grows when she sees Jackson's reflecting back, and then drops again. "I have to ask, though. Why ... what was Montana, for you? We never talked about it, except that one time, and then it seemed like you and Maggie were into each other, but I thought -"

" _Maggie_?" She can hear the exasperation creep into his voice. "First of all, _no_ , and second, you told me nothing had changed. You told me it didn't change anything between us."

"I didn't think you wanted it to!" she exclaims, because apparently those tools and strategies she's been learning in therapy work _riiight_ until Jackson says more than five words to her. "I thought -"

Jackson raises a hand; a plea for silence. April bites her lip instead.

"How about," he says slowly, "we both stop _thinking_ and assuming and start actually talking. Okay?"

April blows out a breath. "Okay."

"I'm not sure if we work, together. Maybe too many things happened to us too quickly, or maybe we rushed into stuff without really talking about it first. Maybe there's was too much history and it would just new crappy stuff on top of old crappy stuff. But - when I think about the rest of my life, I can't see anyone else but you. I love you, April. I'm still in love with you. That's why Montana happened."

She remembers, vaguely, from elementary-school science class that it takes about 100 million years for a mountain to fully form. Like a monument to hundreds of thousands of years of history, to things changing and moving and growing around it, within in, until the foundation's solid.

She thinks of bar fights and Lake Tahoe and Samuel and Harriet and waking up his in arms in a Montana hotel room feeling wrapped in the surety of her love for him. Maybe they don't work together, and maybe it would be more of the fights and defensiveness and fortune cooking throwing if they tried again. Or maybe they'd keep changing together, until they figure out what they need to be.

"Jackson," she says, somewhere between laughter and crying, her hands coming up to frame his face, "I haven't stopped loving you since the first time we kissed."

His expression floods with relief; she can feel his smile under his fingertips.

"So," he murmurs as she moves her hands down to join his, "we try?"

"It might be crazy, but yeah," she agrees, linking their hands together, "I think we try."

"We take it slow. Talk about everything."

"And I'm still moving out."

"And therapy. Again. For real."

"No sex."

" _Definitely_ no sex. At least for a little while."

Jackson smiles again, the weight of his hands warm and welcome against hers, and maybe this is what it feels like to finally reach the summit, April thinks, to look out and see all that possibility spread out before you. To feel history and strength grounded under your feet, but know that you can keep shifting and growing all the same.

She can't wait to find out.


End file.
